


keep it trivial

by freloux



Category: Veep (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-06 05:15:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12204600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freloux/pseuds/freloux
Summary: It's a state dinner. These things happen.





	keep it trivial

It’s a state dinner. These things happen.

It’s one of those events where you go because you have to, because the job and the grind demand it, but at least there’s free booze and a bunch of hot foreign dignitaries who’ll pretend not to speak English when you fuck them so yeah, things could be worse.

Jonah is taking full advantage of that, so it’s easy to just sit back and watch him make a spectacular ass out of himself. Because he’s exactly the kind of person who only ever bothered to learn swear words in a bunch of different languages, plus phrases like “do you want to fuck” which he probably only got from “Lady Marmalade.”

“Why don’t you ever get that drunk?” Amy asks, waving her wineglass in the general vicinity of the Trinity nuclear test that is Jonah trying to score.

Dan laughs. “I don’t have to. Did I tell you I took the virginity of Miss USA four years ago just because I said I worked in Washington? And she thought I meant the state.”

Amy rolls her eyes and takes another drink.

“But what about you?” Dan asks, running a finger around the rim of his glass so it makes a tiny squeak sound. The state representative seated behind them winces. “Are you getting any action with that - what’s his name?”

“Well, he won’t go down on me, so it’s a bit of a - let’s just say I have to do more giving than receiving,” Amy replies. She stares into her glass as if willing it to refill itself with more wine. When that proves unsuccessful, she starts fidgeting with her napkin ring, folding and unfolding her napkin around it. In the dim lighting of the ballroom in whatever-the-fuck this hotel is, it’s hard to tell whether she’s embarrassed or annoyed.

Dan lifts an eyebrow. “Can’t say I’m surprised. As if he could ever find the clit, much less figure out how it works.”

She laughs. “Oh please, like you’re so much better? Guys take for-fucking-ever to understand that shit.”

“I tend to get pretty consistent five-star reviews,” Dan says smugly, finishing his drink. “And Miss USA was a screamer.”

Amy narrows her eyes at him. Testing. “Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is, then.”

He clinks his glass against hers. “Let’s get out of here. I’m game if you are.”

***

A coat closet isn’t exactly the honeymoon suite at the Four Seasons, but Dan’s had sex in worse places. (There was an incident with poison ivy and a rash that wouldn’t go away for, like, weeks.) This is not going to be fucking romantic, but that’s the point.

So - how to go about kissing Amy Brookheimer? He tilts towards her, faltering, feeling out the situation, and she laughs. “Oh my god, Dan. This is not high school prom. Man up.”

He breathes out a laugh, but she drops her bag (it clunks against the floor like it’s the nuclear football) and leans forward to be the one that kisses first. Weirdly, she makes it seem simple. Her lips just rub up against his before she drags a string of kisses down to his jaw and back up again. Aimless, not calculating, not like he expected. (He also didn’t expect to be making out with Amy in a coat closet at a state dinner to begin with, so there’s that.)

She doesn’t go straight for tongue, either, which is surprising because most of the girls he’s fucked have been pretty ready to just wham-bam-thank you, ma’am. It’s like she’s being careful. Nobody’s ever been careful with him, so he isn’t careful right back.

But now he’s just kissing her and they’re swaying back and forth a little, brushing up against coats and purses and all the shit that people leave behind at places like this. (The coat check lady, clearly overworked and underpaid, left for a smoke break and hasn’t come back yet.) He backs her up against the wall and a nearby Burberry peacoat, no doubt owned by someone very, very outside the Beltway, slides to the floor, jangling a bunch of coat hangers.

“Oh, shit,” Amy mutters against his mouth. But they keep going, kissing slowly - so slowly he’s pretty sure they’re going to get caught at any moment. Hey, maybe Amy is into that. Wouldn’t be the first time he hooked up with a girl who had an exhibition kink.

She slides her tongue into his mouth and it’s like fucking _finally_. This is the part he’s good at. Dan presses up against her, grinding a little, and kisses his way down to her neck. As if clueing into what he’s about to do, Amy pushes him away a little. “No, Dan - I can’t get a fucking hickey right now.”

He smirks, plotting something else, and stops. Amy breathes funny, like she wanted - didn’t want - isn’t sure if she wants to keep going. He can work with that - he starts playing with the straps of her dress instead. She’s wearing a deep navy thing that’s made of smooth, silky fabric, and probably isn’t wearing a bra. Dan’s kind of curious about what her tits look like. They dated for about a week (if you can call it dating) so the few times that they had sex he didn’t really get the best view.

Her breath catches again and she shivers when he lifts the straps of her dress and lets them go so they can slide down her shoulders. And wow. He touches her nipples, rubbing slowly.

“Dan, what are you doing?” Amy asks. She looks up at him - he’s one head taller than her. He never really realized that. Somehow that’s important.

“Touching your tits. What does it look like I’m doing?” Dan asks in response. He wants to smirk at her but making eye contact feels weird, too vulnerable, even, right now.

She rolls her eyes and lets out a huff of annoyance that edges into a squeaky moan. Sighing, leaning into it, self-conscious shifting that doesn’t quite stop, even as he keeps going. He twists hard, shoves his thigh between her legs, thrusting up so she has something to bear down on. The fabric of her underwear slides wetly on him, and he can feel her grip his thigh in greedy spasms.

He keeps one hand on her hip and pushes the other up under her skirt, dropping his thigh so she can press against his hand instead. At this point Dan is going on instinct more than anything else. It’s easy to just feel his way into her underwear and press his fingers against her clit. Not hard to find, especially since it’s all swollen now, but neither of them make a comment or an “I told you so.” This thing, whatever is was to begin with, is starting to veer far away from where they started, from dare to something closer to - well, Dan doesn’t have the words for it. He’s not really good at emotions, but then again, neither is Amy.

So instead he withdraws his fingers and slides down her body. She sighs in anticipation: that sound he loves, of a girl all expectant and horny. She lifts her dress, messy - straps halfway down her shoulders, the skirt bunched up in her fists - and he pulls her underwear down so she can step out of it, her heels long since kicked off. He kisses her thigh for no reason at all.

Dan doesn’t remember the first girl he went down on - it was some chick back in high school, around the time that everyone started giving each other BJs and bragging about it - but he definitely remembers the way it felt. Some kind of power trip: the idea that he could get a girl off just by using his mouth, his tongue.

Every girl tastes different, but there’s a basic essence to it all, slippery and faintly sweet. Amy tastes just like that. He can’t place anything unique about it. Maybe it’s her reaction that’s the unique thing.

Ok, yeah, he’s jacked it while thinking about a lot of the women he works with - that fantasy with Selina was oddly specific but Jesus _Christ _was it hot - so Amy’s appeared in the spank bank more than once.__

____

____

But nothing like this. He figures it’s because she’s so fucking uptight like all the fucking time, so hearing her fall so completely apart is starting to make him really hard. She’s gasping incoherently, moaning _fuckfuckfuckohmygod_ over and over again, and his name, all drawn out with shaky percussive syllables, works its way in there, too. One of her hands has settled into his hair and she pulls at him - it stings, it’s rough, but he wants it, this, whatever.

Her - pussy? Cunt? Just like every girl tastes different, most of the girls he’s been with also have different names for their lady parts. Some of them were so bad it took him out of the mood right away, an instant cue to ghost them and move on. Honestly, he does the ghost/move on thing with basically every girl he’s ever been with. He doesn’t know how he’s going to handle that with Amy since they fucking work together.

But he didn’t take the time to think about that, just like he didn’t think to ask her what she wants him to call her vag. So instead he just moans her name, in this weird and almost reverent tone of voice that he didn’t even know he was capable of.

Amy balances one leg over his shoulder, hooked at the knee, which gives him even better leverage to push his mouth up further against her, let her drip all over and into his mouth. She’s still fluttering, in time with her uneven breaths, and all of her arousal is dripping out, down over her thighs. He licks up to catch it on his tongue and she fucking _whimpers_ , so he just keeps licking her, just like that: sliding up, down, pressing hard then soft, licks up to suck hard on her clit until she moans that it’s oversensitive. But he wants to, has to keep going, wants to prove that he’s better than any other motherfucker - you swore you’d only date outside D.C. He holds onto her hips, tight enough almost to bruising. Her breath hitches and he slurps her slick pussy juice, angles his head to lick up along the side of her clit - press lightly on the tip where she’s most sensitive - 

When she comes, she doesn’t moan or scream at all. Instead, she just kind of sighs like it’s a definitive end. He pulls away, panting, and adjusts himself awkwardly. Amy glances down at the obvious outline, thick inside the dress pants he hates wearing but does anyway because money fame power is everything he wants, so fuck what it takes to get there. He’s so hard that it’s actually uncomfortable.

“I don’t want you to finish inside me,” Amy says as she lifts her leg up off his shoulder. She shimmies a little, getting her underwear back on, and steps into her heels. “And be careful about my dress, this is not going to be a Bill Clinton situation, mmmkay?”

Stroking his cock with Amy watching feels weirdly - intimate is such a gross word, he’s only ever used it ironically, but here it seems to fit. He twists his hips a little to get a better angle, gripping firmly, closing his hand around himself a little more fiercely and she’s watching, biting her lip - he wants to be inside her, to come and fill her up, let her drip it back out so that she’ll feel it during the rest of the night - slippery mixed with her own juice and squirming, knowing that it’s his and that he did that to her.

He grunts a little, pushing the skin back and forth over himself a little too forcefully, squeezing at the tip because it’s all wet and sensitive. This is fantasy and reality crunching together as he comes over his hand and he says “Amy,” quietly and she quirks her eyebrow. It’s almost - almost like he imagined himself saying it, like it didn’t mean anything even though he wants it to? His dick is going soft and his hand is wet and she’s digging through her purse for a Kleenex and honestly this is probably one of the better political events he’s ever been to.

Amy pinches the Kleenex between her fingers, doing that lemon face she makes a lot, and tosses it in the trash. “You might want to fix your hair,” she says.

“Oh, but constantly looking freshly fucked is part of my charm,” Dan replies.

“Obviously.” She chucks his shoulder as they walk back out.


End file.
